“Well, then sure. No problem.”
“Search the hard drive as thoroughly as you can. I’m going upstairs to the warden’s office. Call me if you find anything interesting.”
“Will do,” Williams said.
Leaving the records department, Linderman leaned against the cool concrete wall in the hallway outside. He tried not to think about the deck of cold case playing cards in his pocket, or the scribbling he’d seen on Danni’s card. He reminded himself that he’d come to Starke Prison to find the man who’d abducted Wayne Ladd. That was his first priority. Everything else had to wait.
Only he couldn’t wait.
This was Danni.
In college he’d studied philosophy. One discussion had always stood out. A father takes his young daughter and her best friend to the beach. The two girls go swimming, and are pulled out by the tide. The father can only save one child from drowning. Which one does he save?
The answer was his daughter. The father could always forgive himself for letting another child drown, but he could never forgive himself for letting his daughter perish.
He took the deck out of his pocket and slipped the cards from the box. Finding Danni’s card, he held it up to the dim overhead light. Writing filled the margins, the letters so faint that he couldn’t make out what they said.
“Damn it,” he said.
He put the cards away. Scrutinizing Danni’s card would have to wait.
He took the stairs to the warden’s office.
He entered without knocking. Jenkins sat at his desk while Wood hovered beside him, both staring at Jenkin’s computer. Neither man lifted their gaze.
“Find something good?” Linderman asked.
“I’m not sure what we’ve found,” Wood said.
He came around the desk. On the screen was one of the index cards from Crutch’s cell. The handwriting had been blown up and was clearly legible. It was a psychological profile of Mr. Hyde, a serial killer who’d terrorized Seattle for over a decade.
Linderman had profiled Mr. Hyde at Quantico, and knew a great deal about him. Mr. Hyde was a pansexual, and would have sex with any object, man, woman or child. Crutch’s profile contained information he’d never seen before, including intimate details about Mr. Hyde’s abusive childhood, his early sexual experiences, an addiction to pornography and S &M, and the types of violent fantasies that plagued him. Several sentences were underlined, including Lived in attic as a boy and Does not know meaning of love.
“What did you find on the other index cards?” Linderman asked.
“There are fifteen index cards in all,” Wood said. “Each contains a detailed profile of a serial killer in the United States who’s still at large. There’s the Gray Man, the Denver Ripper, the Necktie Killer in Boston, and a dozen more.”
“How about Killer X in Fort Lauderdale?” Linderman asked.
“Here’s there, too.”
“Let me see the card.”
The index card containing Killer X’s profile appeared on Jenkin’s computer. It was as detailed as Mr. Hyde’s, and included facts about Killer X’s upbringing that had eluded law enforcement, including an addiction to bodybuilding and certain men’s grooming products. A line at the bottom of the card caught his eye.
Can’t get enough of his victims. Just like SOS. Should be easy to find.
“Jesus Christ,” Wood said. “He was trying to track these guys down, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, and he succeeded with Killer X,” Linderman said. “Let me ask you a question. Did you find any mention on the cards of Wayne Ladd?
“No,” Wood said.
“How about Robert Nardelli or Barry Reedy? They were the first two victims.”
“Nothing about them, either,” Wood said. “So far, we haven’t found any evidence linking Crutch to those crimes.”
Linderman went to the window and looked down onto the yard. He had traveled to the prison fully expecting to find evidence that would link Crutch to Mr. Clean, and his crimes. Without that proof, he couldn’t move the investigation forward.
In the distance, he saw the inmates returning to their cellblock. Crutch was in the same position in the rear of the line, chatting amicably with the guard. He still doesn’t know we’re here. It gave Linderman an idea, and he went back to the desk.
“I want to give Crutch a cell phone tonight,” he said.
“Why – so he can call this killer again?” Jenkins said.
“Yes. Crutch doesn’t know we’re on to him. That’s to our advantage. We’ll give him a slave phone, and monitor his calls.”
“A slave phone?”
“They’re cell phones equipped with special monitoring chips that are tracked using satellites,” Linderman explained. “It will tell us the phone number of anyone Crutch talks to, and let us eavesdrop on his conversations.”
“But how will you get the phone to him?” Jenkins asked. “You arrested Drake.”
“We’ll cut a deal with Drake, and get him to help us.”
“I’m not partial to giving out passes,” Jenkins said matter-of-factly. “Drake compromised the prison’s security. The son-of-a-bitch deserves to do time.”
“What’s he looking at – a couple of years in prison?” Linderman argued. “With a decent lawyer, he might end up doing a hundred and eighty days in county. He’s our link to Crutch. We need him on our side.”
Jenkins scratched his chin in thought. Linderman looked at Wood, and saw the director of the Jacksonville office dip his chin in agreement.
“What the hell,” Jenkins said. “Let’s do it.”
Wood called the jail in Jacksonville and spoke to the deputy in charge of booking new prisoners. He cupped his hand over the phone. “Drake’s lawyer showed up a half hour ago. They’re getting his name and number for me.”
“Good,” Linderman said.
Wood returned to his call. Linderman pulled Jenkins to the other side of the room, and dropped his voice. “I don’t want Crutch knowing we’ve been here. Can you keep him locked up without arousing any suspicions?”
“Sure,” Jenkins said. “I’ll keep everyone in his cellblock confined.”
“Perfect.”
Jenkins got on his phone, and made arrangements for the inmates in Crutch’s cellblock to remain in their cells for the rest of the day. Linderman felt his spirts rise. The investigation was moving ahead. Now it was a matter of putting a slave phone into Crutch’s hands, and waiting for him to make contact with Mr. Clean.
He excused himself, and left the room.
The bathroom was at the hallway’s end. Locking himself inside, he removed Danni’s card from the deck of cold case playing cards, and held it up to the harsh light above the sink. The tiny words written in the margin jumped to life.
One of Skell’s
He felt himself shudder. Simon Skell was a notorious serial killer who’d preyed on young women in South Florida before being killed in a manhunt. Linderman had long suspected Skell in his daughter’s abduction, only had never been able to make a link.
One of Skell’s
He fanned through the rest of the deck. There was writing in the margins of the other cards, which he held up to the light and read. On each unsolved case, Crutch had written the name of a killer. Like someone playing a game, Crutch had matched the killers to their crimes.
Next to many of the unsolved cases were questions marks. Linderman guessed these were cases where Crutch wasn’t sure, and had to guess.
He flipped back to Danni’s card. There was no question mark next to Skell’s name. It was a statement of fact.
One of Skell’s
He shuddered again.
Crutch knew what had happened to Danni.
Chapter 18
Crutch stiffened as the cell door closed behind him. A strange smell scented the air. Expensive aftershave, or perhaps cologne. Not something any of the bovine guards would wear. He’d had a visitor.